


A Simple Truth

by ponticle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Jungle, Background Relationships, Break Up, Crossing Timelines, Documentary, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Filming, Guilt, M/M, Make Up, Minor Character Death, Modern Thedas, POV Alternating, Survivor Guilt, Violence, guns and weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” --Oscar WildeA documentary film crew captures the progress of a humanitarian mission, led by two university professors, turned activists, Anders and Alistair. Everything is not what it seems.Prose in chronological order, from an alternating third person POV, documentary pieces, non-linear. Divided into five sections.CAST & CREWAlistair:	        Epidemiologist, Professor Emeritus, University of AmaranthineAnders:	        Activist, Department Chair, University of AmaranthineVarric:		DirectorDorian:		ProducerIsabela:	        Assistant DirectorMorrigan: 	Location ScoutHawkins:	        GripIron Bull:	        Humanitarian, CHARGE organization leaderFenris: 	        Location Interpreter





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

# Prologue

[Close shot of Anders and Alistair in partial focus. No audio. Anders picks a piece of lint off Alistair’s lapel as the shot widens. Alistair’s laugh is the first thing the audience hears with a slow, gentle swell of music.]

 

**...on the relationship...**

**Alistair** : I mean, it’s been a lot of work, for sure.

 **Anders** ( _huffing_ ): Work?

 **Alistair** ( _turns away from the camera, laughs_ ): Yeah, well… I’m working _at_ it… _for_ you.

 **Anders** : Don’t work. That’s what _they_ want you to do.

( _Alistair rolls his eyes_.)

 **Anders** : I think it’s been pretty easy, all things considered.

 **Alistair** : What relationship have _you_ been in?

 **Anders** : Ha! You’re the one who’s always saying I’m the best person you know. I guess the truth is coming out now.

 **Alistair** ( _smiling, blushing_ ): You are… it’s _because_ you’re so good that I’m working so diligently. ( _Turning to the camera_ ) He’s the only person in the world I’d try this hard for.

( _Anders covers his face in his hands_. _Alistair laughs._ )

 **Anders** : Okay… next question… let’s move on.

 

**...on causes...**

**Anders** : Well, I think that’s debatable… I mean, we both have things we care about… they’re just not necessarily the same things.

 **Alistair** : That’s what keeps it interesting, I think.

(They nod to each other. Alistair smiles down at his hands.)

 **Anders** : ...yeah, _interesting_ …

 **Alistair** ( _to the camera_ ): ...and dangerous… but what’s life without a little danger? I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t overcome…

 **Anders** ( _interrupting_ ): Life isn’t a competition, Al…

 **Alistair** ( _leaning in toward Anders’ face_ ): _That’s_ debatable too.

 **Anders** : well, nevertheless, _yes_ … I tend to be slightly single-minded when it comes to politics… but get _this one_ talking about the state of healthcare and we’ll all be here until next Tuesday.

 

**...on your individuality…**

**Anders** : Well, we’re very different people, don’t you think?

 **Alistair** ( _laughing_ ): Yes… I mean, we do really different things, certainly. ( _Looks at someone behind the camera_.) Oh, okay… yeah, so Anders is an activist primarily—

 **Anders** ( _interrupting_ ): Activist is not quite the right flavor…

 **Alistair** ( _pointing over his shoulder, smirking_ ): Yeah… I’m sure he prefers revolutionary.

( _They look at each other and laugh, blushing and smiling._ )

 **Alistair** : I’m kidding. He’s one of the most important political minds of our time. I mean that. He’s… really amazing… Chair of his department…

 **Anders** : Yeah, well, you’re not one to talk… you’ve published more papers on epidemiology than I knew existed… ( _turning to the camera_ ) He wrote the book on emerging Nevarran diseases — literally.

 **Alistair** : You’re sweet.

 **Anders** : Yeah yeah… ( _rubbing the back of his neck_ ). Let’s move on.

 

**...on the future…**

**Alistair** : It’s really hard to say… I mean, we’re both working on things… internally and externally.

 **Anders** : But I’ll be here, you know.

( _Alistair stops; they turn to face each other: nose to nose._ )

 **Anders** : ...in whatever capacity I can be… you know that.

 **Alistair** ( _nodding_ ): Yeah, I know that. ( _beat_ ) The point is, we’re taking it one day at a time; negotiating… ameliorating…

 **Anders** :  — Hey, _I’m_ the one who said that…

 **Alistair** ( _winking at the camera_ ): See? He’s so smart. ( _Turning back to Anders_ ) I love that beautiful brain of yours.

 **Anders** ( _to the camera_ ): Can we get another take? This is ridiculous.

( _Alistair wraps his arm around Anders and kisses the side of his head_.)

 **Anders** : Oh perfect…

 

[The camera pans toward the floor while it slowly loses focus and the music grows louder.]

 

[Title screen: **_A Simple Truth_** ]

  

* * *

 

## Day 1  - Alistair

 

            “Are you sure this is a good idea?” whispers Alistair. He’s covering his lapel mic with a hand, even though he _thinks_ it’s off.

            Anders shrugs. “I think it’s a _requirement_ …”

            Alistair knows he’s right. If it weren’t for this documentary and the potentially beneficial bump to the university’s public persona that it entails, this expedition would not be happening.

            “You’ll get used to it…” says Anders. He tries to smile, but his expression is off.

            Alistair puts a hand on his shoulder and leans in so they’re eye to eye. “Are you okay?”

            Anders shrugs.

            “I can always tell when you aren’t… I can hear it in your voice,” says Alistair.

            Anders looks up at Alistair, but doesn’t say anything. Alistair knows it isn’t the time to push — this is a big undertaking; Anders needs support, not inquisition. He decides to change tack.

            “I can’t keep everyone straight — who is that woman with the dark hair again?” asks Alistair.

            Anders smiles. “That’s Isabela. She’s the assistant director…”

            “And who’s the woman she’s flirting with?” Alistair laughs quietly while Anders rolls his eyes.

            “That’s Morrigan. They live together.” Then Anders smiles. “Power couple status, right?”

            They both laugh.

            Alistair surveys the other crew members. He realizes he knows hardly anyone. He’s about to ask Anders about some of the others just as they’re interrupted.

            “Can I get those mics?” asks a grip. Alistair met her at one of their original meetings; just like the others, he can’t remember her name.

            “Thanks, Harding,” says Anders.

            Alistair finds himself smiling. No matter how jaded Anders pretends to be, his goodness leaks out: he cares about _everyone_.

            When she’s gone, Anders laughs, “ _What_?”

            “You…” Alistair puts his hand on Anders’ waist. “You’re wonderful.”

  

* * *

 

* * *

 

[Alistair and Anders sitting on two stools in a black box studio. Camera begins with a focus on their feet — they fidget against the scuffed floor. Shot widens to their faces. Audio up.]

 

 **Varric/VO** : So, can you tell us a little about the project?

( _Alistair and Anders begin talking at the same time. Laugh. Alistair nods to Anders_.)

 **Anders** : Well, yes… we’re about to head out on an expedition… We’re going to the extreme north… Seheron.

 **Alistair** ( _leaning forward toward the camera_ ): What he is neglecting to tell you is that we have to go there by way of the Colean Sea… so we have to go through the Anderfels first.

 **Varric** / **VO** : Yeah, we’re aware.

 **Isabela** ( _somewhere off-screen_ ): Yeah, thanks for that, boys. We are _really_ looking forward to slogging through the jungle.

( _Scattered laughter from the crew_.)

 **Anders** : Well, anyway… we’re going to fly to Hossberg, take a train through the Wandering Hills, and then travel on foot until the sea.

( _Alistair sighs_.)

 **Varric/VO** : Getting cold feet, Al? ( _aside_ ) Can I call you Al?

 **Alistair** ( _shrugging_ ): I guess… ( _to Anders_ ) I’m not having second thoughts; I’m just a little apprehensive… but I walk faster in the cold…

 **Varric/VO** : Explain that?

 **Alistair** ( _laughing, taking Anders’ hand across the space between their stools_ ): It’s a thing I used to say… about facing challenges. Anders thinks it’s ridiculous.

 **Anders** : No I don’t. I only said I’d get hypothermia… you’re allowed to do any insane thing you want.

( _Anders and Alistair smile at each other_.)

 **Anders** ( _looking back into the camera_ ): Anyway… we’re going to meet up with some representatives of the CHARGE organization.

 **Isabela** ( _off screen_ ): Tell the audience what that is.

 **Anders** ( _nodding_ ): It stands for _Community Health and Research for the Good of Everyone_. It’s a bit of a mouthful.

( _Alistair laughs_.)

 **Anders** : Once we’re with them, we’ll have use of their connections… staff, translation services, etc.

 **Alistair** : We just have to make it there… ( _looking at Anders_ ) ...and we _will_.

 

[Gentle music plays. Close-up on a silent, non-verbal exchange.]

  

* * *

 

## Day 2 - Anders

 

            “There was a period, when we were living apart…” Anders looks up at the camera and laughs. “There were _several_ of those, actually.”

            “Oh yeah?” asks Dorian. He’s behind the camera, which is an odd place for the Producer to be — even Anders knows that. He seems to be very hands-on so far.

            “Yeah… this is actually the first time we’ve ever lived in the same place,” says Anders. He clears his throat. He’s not sure exactly where to look; his eyes keep darting back and forth between the Camera and Dorian.

            “So… go back to what you were saying,” Dorian coaches. “About that period…”

            Anders nods briefly and looks down at the floor. “Well, we were living apart… and this was very early in our relationship…” He smiles without meaning to. “And we were always super busy with things — we still are… but at this point, we used to only be able to talk at like two in the morning, for some reason.”

            Dorian smiles brightly. Apparently Anders is doing _well_.

            “...and we had the most wonderful conversations back then, but I couldn’t ever remember them properly the next day. I used to try to make notes for myself after a while, but invariably, Al had a better memory for what happened than I did… he’s good like that.”

            “Do you think he was more into it than you were?” Dorian asks suddenly.

            Anders squints. “No, of course not; why would you ask that?”

            Dorian smiles haughtily. “Well, I tend to remember things that matter to me. Don’t you?” He turns the camera off suddenly and laughs. “Don’t look at me like that; we’ve got to keep it interesting… this is a _film_ , after all. A little intrigue goes a long way.”

            Anders smiles back, but it’s tentative. He doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea of editorializing his life, even though it’s something he feels like he’s been unwittingly doing since he was young. In fact, maybe it’s _because of_ his variable relationship with the truth that he feels so strongly about the integrity of this project. Certainly, it’s a cause above reproach. And… closer to home — to his heart — there’s Alistair… _to_ _him_ , the truth means everything.

  

* * *

* * *

 

 

[Anders’ face fills the entire shot. From the movement of the camera, it’s clear that he’s holding it himself.]

 

 **Anders** : Like _this_?

 **Isabela/VO** : Yeah. Just make sure your whole face is in focus.

( _Camera shifts a little. Anders smiles_.)

 **Anders** : And now what?

 **Isabela/VO** : Just say what’s on your mind. Pretend I’m not here.

 **Anders** ( _laughing_ ): Okay… ( _clearing throat_ )... I’m feeling a little apprehensive about this whole thing, to be honest. I’m not sure what’s waiting out there for us… but… in the deepest parts of myself, I think we’re doing the right thing.

 **Isabela/VO** : Yeah. Perfect. Keep going.

 **Anders** ( _rolling his eyes, then smiling again_ ): Well, I’ve always been committed to giving a voice to the voiceless… and… who has less of a say than refugees? Than the impoverished? Than the homeless?

( _Long period of silence. Anders looks off into the distance wistfully_.)

 **Anders** : And I think the biggest thing is that I’m not doing this alone… ( _Looking away from the lens._ ) Is that enough?

 **Isabela/VO** : Yeah... for now.

 

[Fade to black.]

  

* * *

 

## Day 3 - Alistair

 

            “Andy, are you going to miss this?” Alistair asks.

            “What?” Anders was almost asleep; his voice is muffled in the pillows of the bed they share.

            “Are you going to miss living here?” Alistair asks again.

            “Oh…”

            A car horn honks; someone unfamiliar yells two streets away; the train passes. Alistair closes his eyes and loses himself in the sounds of the city — _their_ city.

            “I don’t think so,” says Anders finally.

            Alistair rolls his eyes, although he knows Anders can’t see him. “I should have known you’d say that… maker forbid you seem sentimental.” He snorts as Anders tries to wriggle out of his arms.

            “I mean, I might miss the _sounds_ ,” amends Anders. “...and maybe _Wok and Roll_.”

            They both laugh — it’s the worst Chinese food in the world, but they eat there all the time.

            “...but no… I’m not going to miss it… because, Al… the things I love about this place… they’re all just _you_.”

            Alistair’s chest swells; he fights a sudden constriction in his throat.

            “...and you’ll be with me… no matter what, right?” adds Anders.

            Alistair pulls Anders tighter into his side and kisses his head. “Of course I will… no matter what.” 

 

* * *

 

[Alistair alone, on the edge of the sea. Shot begins over his shoulder, circles to his profile.]

 

 **Varric/VO** : Looking back, do you think this was the right thing?

 **Alistair** ( _scoffing_ ): How the fuck should I know?

 **Varric/VO** : What do you think Anders would say? ...if he were here?

 **Alistair** ( _whispering, looking at Varric over the camera_ ): You do _not_ have the right to ask me that — to ask me _anything_ … you piece of—

 **Varric/VO** : C’mon, Al...

 **Alistair** ( _looking into the lens_ ): It doesn’t matter… what Anders would say if he were here. He’s _not_.

( _Alistair turns away from the camera, walks quickly from the beach_.)

 

[Camera follows to the tree line. Fade to black.]

* * *

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

## Day 5 - Anders

           

            “I’m just about to finish up here,” says Anders into the phone. He keeps looking up at the camera over his shoulder. He’s not even _remotely_ used to it yet. “Well, I don’t _know_ what’s in the fridge… aren’t you at home? Go look.”

            Isabela laughs from behind the camera.

            “Fine. I’ll see you in a bit.” He hangs up.

            “So who was that?” asks Isabela.

            “My darling Alistair, of course…” Anders rolls his eyes as he stuffs a messy stack of papers into his bag. “...physician at twenty-five, author of a million papers, champion of the weak and disenfranchised, and utterly unable to feed himself…”

            Isabela laughs again and turns the camera off.

            “That wasn’t good?” asks Anders.

            “It’s not really the angle we’re going for… he’s supposed to be the _scientist_ ,” she says.

            “Well, he _is_ a scientist… you should hear him talk about science — it’s like how normal people talk about _god_.” Anders smiles and shoulders his bag. “Are you going to follow me home too?”

            Isabela shakes her head. “No, I have to meet up with Varric to go over the B-roll we got today. I think some of the stuff from your office earlier is going to be usable.”

            “I should think so — the lighting was perfect,” jokes Anders. He turns his head to the side so she’ll look at his profile.

            “We’ll see, hot-shot.” Isabela laughs again and steps out the door into the hallway. “Get some sleep tonight. Varric is doing your individual interview tomorrow.”

            Anders makes an exaggerated shivering noise. “Is this when the documentary gets _serious_?”

            Isabela raises an eyebrow. “Oooh, just wait.”

            And Anders knows she’s kidding, but a small part of him hopes she’s _right_. Because although he knows his life is as close to perfect as it has ever been — and on the whole he loves it — a part of him _loathes_ it, too. It’s the kind of calm that heralds a storm, the kind of gentleness that gives way to a fight. A voice inside insists it’s just him: he’s defective in some way, incapable of holding onto anything good forever, or that he wouldn’t recognize _good_ even if he had it. When the internal arguing stops, though, all he knows is the itchiness of pervasive unrest.

            “See you later,” he says. She nods.

            As Anders walks down the street, he scuffs his shoes against the sidewalk. This is one of the last times he’ll have this stuff under his feet — one of the last times he’ll be coming home to make dinner and keep the house running the way it should. And although it’s scary, it also feels like freedom.

            “Hey, Al!” he calls at the threshold. Something doesn’t seem right, though. The lights are all dimmed and a delicious smell is wafting into the hallway. “Al? Where are you?”

            ...but when he rounds the corner he sees...

            “Sorry to trick you…” says Alistair. He’s positively beaming. “I am usually such a _moron_ in the kitchen… and you work so hard… so… I ordered out and displayed everything perfectly.”

            Anders swallows, taking in the table: candles, wine, charcuterie… all his favorite things… “I love you, you know…”

            “I know you do… and… I love you too — like… so much it’s horrifying.”

            They laugh and kiss and stand there swaying to imagined music and Anders thinks — this life might be perfect after all.

  

* * *

 

* * *

 

[Anders, sitting in an office, his fingers interlaced on a desk.  The wall behind him is lined with books. He seems perfectly at ease.]

**Varric/VO:** You sure you haven’t done this before?

 **Anders** ( _laughing_ ): Who said _that_? ( _Raising an eyebrow, clearing his throat_.)

 **Varric/VO** : Okay, our purpose today is to get to know you… we’re going to interview you and Alistair just like this and then splice them together.

 **Anders** : So you’re going to split us up and see if we tell the same story? ( _Laughing_ ) I see how it is… Bring it on.

 **Varric/VO:** Tell us a little about yourself.

 **Anders:** All right. ( _A short pause._ ) I’m Anders.  I’m the Chair of the School of Politics and International Studies at the University of Amaranthine. I’ve taken the next semester off in preparation for this mission…

 **Varric/VO:** Explain the mission.

 **Anders** : Oh… um… ( _smiles gently at a spot on the floor, then blinks and straightens in his chair_.)  In a couple of weeks, my colleague, Dr. Theirin, and I will lead a joint aid mission to Seheron. He’s handling the medical part of it and I’m handling the social aspect. We’re very excited about it.

 **Varric/VO:**   You wanna elaborate on that, Blondie?

 **Anders:** What?

 **Varric/VO:** _Colleague_? We’re going to have you on film together, you know… ( _laughing, the camera shakes slightly._ )

 **Anders** ( _smiling and laughing again_ ) **:** Well, we’ve been together for several years now… and the mission was my idea, but I couldn’t have done it without him.  He’s really added a level of credence to this venture that it wouldn’t have had with only social science crusaders. ( _Laughs again. Fiddles with a pen on his desk and rearranges several papers_.) Is that enough? ( _He waits, apparently Varric has intimated ‘no’_.) Well, I guess... He’s one of the best things to happen to me.  I’m so lucky that I’ve found someone like him… he’s… it’s hard to explain… ( _He looks around the room for a moment_.)

 **Varric/VO** : Just tell us the biggest feature of your relationship — emotional and professional.

 **Anders** ( _looking vaguely appalled_ ): Is _that question_ going in the documentary?

 **Varric/VO** ( _laughing_ ): Shit, no. We edit out all the prompts. I can say anything I want… it’s just what _you_ say that matters.

 **Anders** ( _rolling his eyes_ ): Oh great… ( _clears his throat)_ Okay… well, I guess the big idea here is that Alistair and I seem like opposites on paper. If he said science, I’d say magic. If he charges forward, I hang back… but… ultimately, when we’re together, I feel our _sameness_. It’s something I’ve never had before — and that’s true personally _and_ professionally.

( _Silence_.)

 **Varric/VO** : See, Blondie? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

 **Anders** ( _laughing)_ : I guess not...

 

[Fade to black.]

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

## Day 7 - Anders

 

            “Are you sure about this?” asks Alistair.

            Anders looks up from his computer. He suddenly realizes that Alistair has been talking for some time, but he hasn’t heard a word of it. He’s at the stage of exhaustion where he can’t listen or speak anymore. Nevertheless, he _tries_.

            “What?”

            Alistair drops four or five books with a thud. “Do you even know what I asked you?” He raises an eyebrow, but Anders knows he isn’t mad — not really. That posture is just for show; Alistair has a flair for the dramatic.

            “No,” says Anders flatly. He pushes his laptop off his lap and rolls onto his side, propping his head on a folded arm as he goes. “I have no idea. I wasn’t listening. What are you going to do about it?”

            Alistair’s lip curls. He can’t resist Anders’ cheekiness and Anders has become an expert at playing into it for effect.

            “I’m going to have to think of other ways to make myself understood, I think,” he says, flopping down onto the bed in front of Anders.

            “Oh yeah?” Anders reaches out to put a hand on Alistair’s waist, under the hem of his shirt. The skin there is some of Anders’ favorite: smooth and tan.

            “Yeah… I’m going to take your computer away and make you listen to terrible music…” Alistair deadpans. “I’ve tried the carrot, now it’s time for the stick…”

            Anders snorts. “Is that a euphemism?”

            “You wish.”

            They laugh together, smiling into the six inches of air between their lips. Anders has half a mind to close the gap and kiss Alistair until he can’t remember what they were talking about any better than Anders can, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, he backs up an inch and smiles gently. “I’m sorry. I’m shit at multitasking; you know that. What did you ask me?”

            Alistair smiles. “If you’re sure about going to the gym with me tomorrow.”

            “Oh god. No,” Anders laughs. “Don’t ask me again or I might chicken out.”

            “I’m going to be nice to you, you know…” says Alistair. “I’m only tough on myself.”

            Anders rolls his eyes and drops his forehead against Alistair’s chest. “No! You’re supposed to be tough with me too… otherwise I won’t do anything…”

            Alistair wraps his arm around the back of Anders’ head and threads the fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing that…”

            He’s obviously still kidding around, but the words arrest Anders. He closes his eyes and breathes in against Alistair’s shirt. “I know you’re not…” he says quietly. “...and that’s why I love you…” He raises his head and leans in. They kiss softly. When they separate, he only goes an inch. “...and also the reason I’m not going to make it in the jungle. You’ve basically assured my demise; thanks for that.”

            “Oh god, you’re the worst…” laughs Alistair.

            “I know, I know…”

            “Go to sleep, you lameo…” Alistair pulls his shirt off over his head and wriggles out of his shorts before flicking off the light. “I’ll see you bright and early. Love you.”

            “Love you too, Al…”

  

* * *

* * *

 

[The shot opens on dense underbrush. Sounds of measured footfalls and orders yelled somewhere faroff. Camera pans up to Anders, covered in mud, his hair tangled and a gash on his left cheek that looks like it might be infected. He glances at the camera nervously.]

 

 **Anders** ( _whispering_ ): Put that away. What the hell is wrong with you?

 **Dorian/VO** : We might need this… if…

 **Anders** : Shut. Up. I’m serious.

( _There is rustling somewhere out of the shot and the camera drops suddenly as Anders flattens himself against the ground, hiding in the underbrush_.)

 **Dorian/VO** : If all of this goes sideways, Andy… you’re going to need proof… ( _the camera shakes as Dorian inhales audibly_ ) ...make sure you take this—

 **Anders** : Shut up, Dorian. We’re _both_ getting back — you _and_ me. Now turn that _fucking_ camera off.

 

[Shot is suddenly terminated.]

   

* * *

* * *

 

## Day 8 - Alistair

 

            “So, are you ready for your interview today?” asks Anders.

            They’re in bed, talking quietly. It’s Alistair’s favorite place, really. A place where they can be themselves. Something Alistair almost never says aloud is that he’s rather private, when it comes down to it. When he and Anders first got together, he learned pretty quickly that Anders is private too — but not when they’re together. Side by side, between their sheets, they have their own little world where nothing is off limits.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be,” says Alistair. “I really hate being interviewed, you know…”

            Anders snorts and rolls over so his face is against Alistair’s chest. “I know you do… I do too.”

            “Well, you’re very good at it.” Alistair kisses the top of his head and sighs. “I guess I’m pretty good at it, too, actually… but I still hate it.”

            “What do you hate about it?”

            “That it’s so personal,” says Alistair.

            At that, Anders picks up his head. “Personal?”

            “Yeah… they’re going to ask me about _you_ , I presume.”

            “How do you know?” asks Anders.

            “This is _your_ project; of course they’re going to ask me about you.” Alistair rolls his eyes, but he knows he doesn’t look serious. He shifts and pulls until he and Anders are face to face on their sides. “And I love talking about you; don’t get me wrong,” he adds. “But I want to make sure I do a good enough job… for you… what you think of me matters.”

            Anders squints. “I find that hard to believe; you’re so good at living your life without regard for outside opinion.”

            Alistair smirks. “That’s true, but there’s a distinction… you’re not _outside_ ; you’re a part of me.”

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Campfire. Soft drumming in distance. Twilight. Alistair and Anders on a log fireside.]

 

**_...what do you think about the crew?..._ **

**Anders** : That’s sort of a strange question, don’t you think? ( _laughs_ ) I mean, presumably, they’re all going to watch this…

 **Alistair** ( _looking up at camera_ ): You haven’t learned how to deal with Anders yet… always approach him with a beverage in your hand.

( _Anders laughs; pushes his shoulder against Alistair’s_.)

 **Alistair** ( _leaning toward the camera_ ): If it’s before noon, go with coffee… anytime after that, it had better be alcohol.

( _They lean toward each other; whisper; inaudible_.)

 **Anders** : I like the crew a lot… I think they’re all here for the right reasons. ( _Looks up at someone off screen_ ) Right, Dorian?

 **Dorian/VO** : Whatever you say, Andy…

 **Alistair** ( _squinting vaguely_ ): Yeah, they’re _fine_... I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?

 **Anders** : Yeah, I’m beat.

 

[Mic pops as they stand. Camera pans toward sunset. Loses focus as crew disperses peripherally.]

 

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 9 - Alistair

 

            “Well, I think that’s everything,” says Anders.

            Alistair looks around the apartment and shrugs. It was Anders’ before it was theirs. In fact, it still doesn’t actually _belong_ to Alistair, but he feels like it does. It’s where their _love_ lives.

            “Do you want to go over the list again?” asks Alistair.

            Anders rolls his eyes.

            “Okay, fine…” Alistair buckles the final strap on his largest bag and sighs. “You’re right. We’re done.”

            They look at each other in the failing light. They’ve packed the whole place up, including all the lamps; it’s dark.

            “I have to admit, I’m going to miss it here,” says Alistair.

            Anders smirks. “Why?”

            “Because I love you…”

            “Illogical...” Anders laughs and takes two steps forward, arms outstretched. “But I think I get it.”

            Alistair lets his chin rest on Anders’ shoulder. They stand, silently swaying, in the empty apartment… and Alistair knows — this is the edge of something big.

 

            In the airport, everything is as smooth as it can be. Some of Alistair’s equipment is searched and a disgruntled TSA agent wants to know _what_ his ophthalmoscope is, but he handles it all pretty quickly. Before he knows it, he and Anders are waiting near their gate. The crew had to check most of their equipment, but Varric has a handheld.

            “Are you sure you can do that in the airport?” asks Alistair. “I feel like you’re going to get us detained.”

            Varric shrugs. “So, how are you feeling about the trip now that we’re here?”

            Alistair sighs. Apparently, being interviewed isn’t optional. “I’m feeling okay… ish… and I have twenty-something hours to get used to it on the way there, too…”

            “Are you a nervous flyer?” asks Varric.

            “No.”

            “Is that true, Blondie?”

            Anders laughs. He’s just returned from the airport shop with a variety of heady-looking nonfiction titles. He slumps into the chair next to Alistair and smiles. “Al is pretty effing brave, actually.”

            Alistair blushes when he sees the look on Anders’ face — it’s so warm… like he’s the best thing Anders has ever looked at. Eventually he turns back to the camera. “See? Told you…”

            Varric turns the camera off and rubs his chin. “If you two are going to be like this the whole time I’m going to have to hire some hot young assistant to come between you. This is ridiculously boring.”

            They all laugh, but Alistair knows...there’s no one _in the world_ like Anders.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Night. A small tent in the left corner of the shot. Silhouettes gesture to each other. Voices grow louder as the camera gets closer.]

 

 **Alistair** (whispering): I’m telling you, all the roadblocks are a really fucking bad sign, Andy.

 **Anders** ( _scoffing_ ): You don’t think I know that?

( _Alistair’s shadow seems to cave in on itself_.)

 **Alistair** : God damn it… Andy… I’m — I’m just trying to look out for you.

 **Anders** ( _interrupting_ ): Well, back off a little. I’m not a child, Al, shit…

( _The two shadows grow shorter, apparently sitting._ )

 **Anders** : I’m sorry.

 **Alistair** : ...I’m sorry too... I just… I’m _scared_ ; that’s all.

 **Anders** : I know you are; so am I.

 

[The shadows reach out toward each other, becoming one shape. Fade to black.] 

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 13 - Alistair

 

            “All right,” says Varric, raising his hands, “since we’re stuck here, let’s take a few minutes to do some housekeeping.”

            A groan rumbles through the lot of them. The location crew was late due to a local storm system and everyone missed their train. They’ll have to wait twelve hours for the next one. Everyone is grouchy and running on fumes. In times like these, Alistair tries _even harder_ to be positive — to keep the mood light and the group civil — so he smiles and shushes everyone when Varric has trouble doing it himself.

            “Thank you, Red,” says Varric. Then he pauses, squinting up at Alistair’s face. “No, that name isn’t right. Don’t worry; I’ll get it eventually.”

            Alistair laughs.

            “Okay, so now that we’re all here, let’s take a minute to get acquainted with the local crew.” Varric gestures to the clump of newcomers. They’re a bit unusual-looking: a collection of misfits with dirty clothes, matted hair, and various degrees of sunburn. “This is Fenris; he’s our interpreter.”

            The elf he points to _seems_ like he’s smiling, but Alistair can’t really tell. And strangely, although he supposedly speaks several languages, he doesn’t _say_ anything; he just waves.

            “Over here we’ve got The Iron Bull…” continues Varric.

            “ _The_ Iron Bull? Is that a title? Should we bow?” Isabela snickers until Varric gives her a look. “Sorry…” she mumbles.

            “It’s all right,” says Bull. “You think you’re the first one to make that joke?” He laughs, slapping his thigh and smiling broadly. “No hard feelings, Gorgeous. We’ll be friends yet; I can tell.”

            Isabela seems to agree, because she nods and blinks up at him through her lashes. It’s short-lived, though, because Morrigan glares at her, then laughs. Isabela’s reaction tells him there’s something there — something like the way _he_ feels about Anders, maybe. She _melts_ when she looks at Morrigan.

            It seems so genuine — and it’s such a stark contrast — that he wants to keep watching, but Varric addresses everyone again and he looks away. He’s committed to the idea of _best behavior_ … this is Anders’ baby, after all.

            “Bull is our liaison to CHARGE, so _everyone_ should be his friend, actually,” says Varric pointedly, clearing his throat.

            The group laughs.

            “Take a bit and get introduced to the rest of their crew…” he points to several haggard-looking people, whose names Alistair doubts he’ll remember. He’s _so_ tired.

            “Al, can I talk to you for a second?” Varric asks suddenly.

            “Yeah, of course.” Alistair stands and crosses to Varric, who waves him in close.

            “Listen, we need to make sure the whole group gels,” says Varric. “I’ve been on jobs like this before; cohesion is the key.”

            “Okay…and?”

            “ _And_ you seem like just the guy to do that,” Varric adds.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. I see the way you are with Anders. There’s no way that guy likes social situations, but you got him out here… you’re a born mediator — a _leader_ , Al. I can tell.”

            Alistair smiles, but he’s not sure he believes it. He certainly has led things in his life; he’s always the director of groups and the spearhead of projects… but with Anders, he often feels like he’s following — and he _likes_ it; he’d follow Anders anywhere.

 

            With that in mind, the next thing Anders asks — just a few hours later — takes him by surprise.

            “You would have told me… if you thought this was a bad idea… right?” asks Anders.

            They’re still sitting in the train station in the middle of the Anderfels. Alistair is so jetlagged he thinks he might be hallucinating.

            “ _What_?”

            “If you thought this was a horrible mistake,” reiterates Anders, “you would have said something?”

            Alistair thinks about what Varric said, then. _A born leader_. He clears his throat, straightening even though he’s too tired to hold himself upright, and turns so he can look Anders in the eyes. “Of course I would have.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, sweetheart…” Alistair finds Anders’ hands between them. “I’m not in the habit of putting you in harm’s way…”

            “I didn’t mean it like _that_ exactly…” Anders shrugs.

            “I would consider it pretty detrimental if I encouraged you to do something that would ultimately hurt you…” adds Alistair. “Honestly, do you know me at all?”

            Anders laughs. “I knew you were going to say that.”

            They smile at each other.

            “I think you’re wonderful,” says Alistair. “...which you might think makes me a bad source of impartial advice, but generally speaking, the ideas you have are pretty great, even objectively.”

            “I know that,” says Anders. “But now that we’re here — actually doing this — it’s all hitting me… and my heart knows this is the right thing, but my brain… it sometimes takes longer to convince.”

            “Well, don’t worry — I can keep telling you until you believe me.”

 

            The train ride is bumpy, crowded, and long. They end up against a rusty metal wall on the floor of a dirty freightcar. Just when Alistair starts to fall asleep, a man hits him in the head with a metal crate, which turns out to have a chicken in it. It squawks unpleasantly.

            “Doing okay?” asks Anders.

            “Oh…” Alistair rubs the back of his head. “Yeah… I guess. Are you?”

            “Yeah… We’ve only got another…” Anders looks at his watch. “Ten or twelve hours to go…?”

            Alistair rolls his eyes. “ _Only…_ ”

            “Once we get there, I’m sure you’ll be happier… just think… clean air… warm breezes…” Anders smiles in this way Alistair loves — at once self-deprecating and verging on silly. “Come here.” He pulls Alistair under his left arm until he settles into his side. “No matter what, we’ll be together, right?”

            “Right…”

            Anders turns to kiss the top of Alistair’s head. “And you’re going to make sure I don’t do anything insane… that nothing bad happens, right?” He laughs gently.

            “Of course.” 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[A clearing. Two dirty-looking people with bags over their heads are dragged out of the tree line and thrown to their knees.]

 

 **Alistair** ( _stepping forward_ ): Everyone just calm down…

(One of the hooded people turns in response to his voice.)

 **Sten** : We’ll see about that. Hand over the footage and you can have your people back.

( _The other hood swears in a foreign language_.)

 **Karashok** (kicking the hood who swore): Keep quiet.

 **Alistair** ( _raising his palms_ ): Okay, okay… we’ll hand over the footage right now. ( _Turning to Varric_.) C’mon, Var… just give it to them…

 **Varric** : No fucking way.

 **Isabela** ( _tense_ ): Varric… what the fuck — we talked about this.

 **Alistair** ( _muffled_ ): We don’t have a choice.

 **Isabela** : Just give it to them.

( _Camera becomes unsteady, but keeps rolling_.)

 **Alistair** : Okay, see? We’re cooperating. So just let them go.

( _Karashok pulls the hood off the first figure — it’s Anders — and moves to pull it off the second_.)

 **Sten** : Stop! Not until we get all the rest of their footage. You _know_ this isn’t all of it. That small one is still filming.

            ( _Camera shakes wildly. Varric swears_.)

 **Varric** : You can’t— ( _sound of a weapon cocking somewhere close._ )

 **Isabela** : ( _yelling_ , _unintelligible_ )

 **Alistair** : All right, wait… we’ll get you the rest, just give us a second to —

 

[Shuffling, scratching. Camera falls to the ground. Someone screams. Gunshot. Silence.]

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

## Day 17 - Anders

 

            “Okay, can you just tell them we need to sleep _somewhere_?” asks Anders. He knows he sounds exasperated, but they’ve been traveling for such a long time without reprieve.

            Fenris nods before saying something that Anders doesn’t even think sounds like _words_. The woman behind the counter shakes her head. She looks _sorry,_ but that isn’t particularly helpful.

            “No rooms, huh?” asks Alistair. As he leans over Anders’ shoulder, his hand comes to rest on one of Anders’ hips. It’s so gentle that Anders normally wouldn’t even notice it, but today he shifts his weight away without even thinking. Alistair’s expression darkens, but it’s transient.

            “It’s okay… I’m getting very good at sleeping on the ground…” mumbles Anders. He signals to the crew, but before they can move, Fenris puts a hand on his shoulder. “She said they’re out of rooms, but we can stay in the stable.”

            Anders almost argues that that’s worse, but he restrains himself when he sees how hopeful everyone else looks at the prospect.

            “All right,” says Anders. He wipes a hand across his forehead and then looks at the woman. “Thank you.” He bows his head slightly and smiles as much as he can. He’s so tired it’s hard to make his face work, but he tries — he _always_ tries to be kind.

 

            The stables are on the outskirts. To call this a town seems ludicrous, but it’s something _like_ that… a hamlet, maybe. There aren’t any horses in here, just bales of hay and terribly worn-looking farm equipment. Anders wonders if that’s a sign of steady economic decline under the current government. He shivers. This is the exact thing he came here to try to understand — the poverty, the desperation — but seeing it up close feels like something he never imagined. He’s so absorbed in thought that he doesn’t notice Alistair staring at him until he says his name.

            “ _Anders_?”

            Anders looks up, blinks a few times. “Yeah… sorry.”

            “Is here okay?” asks Alistair. He gestures to one of the horse stalls. As far as these things go, it’s a nice one… it might be the cleanest of the available options.

            Anders nods. “I know you’ve been wanting to house hunt, but this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

            Alistair smiles. “Are you sure? You like _rustic_ …” He lays out their mats and then laughs. “ _I’m_ not a huge fan, but you know I'll do it for you…”

            “Yeah, I’m rethinking that whole thing…” says Anders. “What about mid-century modern instead?”

            He settles himself next to Alistair on the tiny, threadbare mat. They stare at each other nose to nose and whisper. “Just think… clean lines, smooth lacquered finishes...a farmhouse sink…”

            Alistair moans, “Oh _yeah_ baby, I’m almost there.”

            They both laugh.

 

            The rest of the crew finishes settling while they smile and blink. Sometimes Anders thinks they communicate best like this.

            “You know…” says Alistair suddenly, “When we get home… I think we should buy something. I know I was reticent...but… it feels right, doesn’t it?”

            Anders pushes one of his knees between Alistair’s thighs. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. What made you change your mind?”

            “I just... love you…” says Alistair.

            Anders rolls his eyes. It’s not much of an answer, but it feels good — better than he wants to admit. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he teases, sneaking a hand under Alistair’s shirt. “I might need a demonstration.”

            “Sshhh,” breathes Alistair.

            Anders rolls his eyes. “They know we fuck,” he whispers.

            “Oh god, I _wish_ ,” laughs Alistair.

            “Well… some approximation…” Anders digs his fingers into Alistair’s side. “Just kiss me.”

            And he does — kiss him — longer and more sweetly than Anders imagines he will. It’s in moments like these that Anders tells himself to _remember_ … because, in his experience, nothing good lasts forever.

  

* * *

* * *

 

[University Boardroom. Alistair and Anders sit next to each other on one side of the table. University Chancellor and Academic Dean sit facing them with various aids and legal counsel filling in the rest of the seats.]

 

**Dean** : We’ve reviewed all the documents you submitted. ( _He coughs_ ) It seems like you were separated during the… ( _looks at his papers_ ) _second_ week? Is that right?

**Anders** : That’s right. I was… taken… before we reached the CHARGE headquarters…

**Alistair** ( _interrupting_ ): He wasn’t off on a joy ride; he was kidnapped — in the middle of the night. ( _Bangs his fist on the table_ )

**Anders** ( _leaning away from Alistair_ ): Yeah… me and… a few others... and Dorian… the producer for the documentary. ( _He won’t look up, but he gestures toward the camera_.)

**Dean** : And what happened to them?

**Anders** : They… uh… they didn’t make it — any of them.

( _Silence. Shuffling of papers. Shoes scuffing on the floor_.)

**Attorney** : We have some additional — personal — questions we’re going to need you to clear up… we’ve outlined them here. (Slides a piece of paper across the table to Alistair.)

( _Alistair pushes the paper toward Anders and peers at it. His face turns red and he jerks his head up_.)

**Alistair** : What the fuck does this have to do with anything?

( _Anders puts a hand on Alistair’s forearm and clenches his jaw visibly_.)

**Attorney** : It’s standard… the university needs to be aware of all the potential factors in what happened…

**Alistair** ( _wrenching his arm free_ ): Factors? You think something different would have happened if we weren’t together?

**Anders** : She’s just covering their bases, Al… _please_ …

**Alistair** : No, she’s scapegoating us.

**Anders** ( _stands suddenly, yells_ ): Well, maybe we deserve a little of the blame here… maybe _you_ do.

( _Tense silence._ )

 

[Fade to black]

            

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 19 - Anders

 

            “Well, we finally made it!” shouts Varric. He’s at the back of the group, behind the handheld, but his voice is clear and loud even to Anders who is at the front with Dorian.

            “Maker, I never thought I’d be so happy to see a clump of huts,” jokes Dorian, jabbing Anders in his side.

            Anders laughs. “Right? It’s pretty much assured that they don’t have running water, but it looks like a five-star resort to me.”

            Dorian trips over a root slightly; Anders reaches out to grab his arm instinctively. When their eyes meet, they smile.

            “Hey!” says Alistair; he’s suddenly right next to them. Anders flinches; he isn’t sure why. “What’s going on?”

            “Oh, nothing,” says Dorian, dusting off his pants. The action is rather pointless; the filth is pervasive. “Just realizing how far we’ve fallen.” He laughs again, but it’s clear he isn’t going to explain it. There’s something about Dorian that Anders likes and loathes: he’s _superior_. It’s the kind of thing Anders can pretend to be for a while — he can be _cuttingly_ critical if he wants to be — but there’s an undercurrent of fairness that always makes him stop short. He still doesn’t really understand it. He wonders if Dorian has it in him too — if he’s better at covering it up.

            “Well, I, for one,” says Alistair happily, “will be thrilled to sleep on even the most threadbare of cots.”

            They all laugh and continue trudging forward. At the outskirts, Bull and Varric have several quiet conversations with the rest of the local team and everyone is eventually given marching orders.

            “Which one are you?” asks Dorian.

            “We’re in that one,” says Anders, pointing.

            Dorian rolls his eyes.

            “What?”

            “Oh nothing,” he smiles smugly, “You’re one of those couples that says ‘we’ all the time?”

            “Oh…” Anders squints. He doesn’t _think_ he is. In reality, he thinks of himself as rather independent. “Well, I mean… Alistair and I are _both_ sleeping there…” he says lamely.

            “Yeah, I got that,” says Dorian. He smiles broadly. “Don’t let me bother you… I haven’t had a ‘we’ to be part of in so long… it’s just sleep deprivation talking — and maybe jealousy.”

            He walks off in the other direction, then, but not before flashing Anders another winning smile. He might have even winked, but Anders can’t be sure. What he _does_ know is that expression won’t be easy to forget.

  

* * *

* * *

 

[Morrigan and several others clumped together in front of several uniformed Qunari guards. Speaking inaudibly — gesturing. Camera approaches them slowly.]

 

**Morrigan** ( _to the tallest guard_ ): I just _told_ you that. We are here with a university professor and a doctor. ( _Rolls her eyes_ ) They’re the most innocuous people I’ve ever met.

**Guard** ( _crossing arms over his chest_ ): Well you can’t come through this way — not with a camera.

**Isabela/VO:** What’s the problem here?

**Guard** ( _glaring into camera_ ): Your crew can’t video record in this settlement. The entire area is being prepped for a military training exercise.

**Isabela/VO** : Training exercise?

**Guard** : You have two options. Clear out of here or turn all your equipment off and pass through. It’s up to you.

( _Guard returns to a clump of other uniformed people several feet away and the camera moves away, trailing Morrigan to a small tent. Inside, it pans up to her face_.)

**Isabela/VO:** Can you tell us what just happened?

**Morrigan** : I’m not in the mood, Bel.

**Isabela/VO** : C’mon. This is exactly the kind of thing we _should_ be documenting. ( _Tisks_ ) More important than whatever the hell else we’re doing out here…

**Morrigan** ( _expression softening_ ): Bel… you care about politics all of a sudden? Tell me, what have you done with my girlfriend?

**Isabela/VO** ( _laughing_ ): Okay… fine… but I don’t feel good about this. Seriously.

**Morrigan** : I know Bel… neither do I.

 

[Camera shakes as it is apparently set down on a table. Isabela’s hands can be seen for a second before the shot is terminated.]

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 22 - Alistair

 

            It’s a sound like someone trying not to make a sound — the sound of sneaking. At first, Alistair doesn’t notice it. In fact, it isn’t until the sound is accompanied by rough arms dragging him backward that he knows there’s trouble. More specifically, _Anders_ is in trouble.

            “What the fuck—” he tries to say, but he’s struck so hard in the side of the jaw that his mouth instantly fills with blood; his tongue is rendered inoperable.

            “Alistair!” shouts Anders.

            Anders is silenced as a burlap bag is thrown over his head and he’s struck repeatedly in the head. Alistair watches it happen in slow motion as he struggles. It’s futile; somewhere else in the camp, other people are screaming too, but he _tries_. He has to do something.

            ...but he can’t.

 

            The next thing he knows, he’s waking up with his face in damp earth; there’s dirt in his mouth and his eyes sting. He doesn’t feel it at all, though. As he scans the camp for faces — one face most of all — all he feels is _loss_.

            “Varric, what...?” he gasps, running to the center hut, where Varric is clutching his head. “What the fuck is going on?”

            Bull is standing nearby and he puts a huge palm out as Alistair gets close. It seems insulting — as if Alistair is some kind of loose cannon. Under the circumstances, he thinks he’s being incredibly restrained.

            “No one knows anything,” says Bull quietly.

            “No one?” Alistair bites his bottom lip so hard it stings. “How the fuck is that possible? Who were those people?” He looks back and forth between Bull and Varric, but their expressions remain blank.

            In the silence that follows, Alistair wonders if he’s going to cry, but then Bull puts his hand out, resting it gently on Alistair’s shoulder.

            “We’re going to figure it out, Al,” he says. “For Anders… and for everyone else who was taken…”

            “Everyone else?” repeats Alistair.

            Bull nods. “Yeah… a few of the crew... Two of my people… Dorian…”

            Alistair swallows thickly. In his grief and confusion, he hadn’t even considered who else was missing — who else would be grieving. On top of every other horrible emotion, now he feels _shame_.

  

* * *

* * *

 

[Dawn. Alistair sits at the side of a dying fire. Anders next to him, head on his shoulder, eyes closed.]

 

**Isabela/VO** : This shot is garbage.

**Varric** ( _off camera_ ): Pull back a little; put Al and Blondie in perspective next to that tree. ( _Walking into the shot_.) Can you two move down a little?

**Alistair** : No.

**Anders** ( _picking his head up_ ): How much?

**Alistair** : I thought the point of this was to be authentic.

**Anders** : Who ever said that?

( _Anders smiles and stands with effort. Alistair follows him. They both sit on a log a few feet away_.)

**Varric** ( _to Isabela_ ): see? That’s better already.

( _Isabela hums_.)

**Varric** : So… how are you feeling a couple weeks in? Are the roadblocks worrying you?

**Alistair** : A little.

**Anders** ( _squinting admonishingly_ ): C’mon, Bull said this is par for the course out here. It’s fine.

**Alistair** : It doesn’t feel fine…

**Varric** : Do I detect an actual disagreement here?

( _Alistair and Anders glare simultaneously._ )

**Alistair** : It actually feels like it’s _your_ fault, Varric. They don’t care about us; it’s the cameras.

( _Tense moment. Anders and Alistair look at Varric silently._ )

**Varric** : All right… nevermind.

 

[Camera loses focus. Fade to black.]

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 23 - Alistair

 

            “Varric, I’m not kidding; don’t come _near_ me with that fucking camera,” says Alistair, without looking up. His voice is shot from intermittent sobbing and screaming. He can’t care, though. All of this is so surreal.

            “It’s not Varric,” says Isabela.

            Alistair thinks about yelling at her, too, but instead manages to stay quiet by biting the inside of his cheek — hard.

            Isabela opens the tent flap and crawls inside. She isn’t carrying a camera, Alistair notices. She looks decidedly forlorn, actually; it’s not a look he’s seen on her before.

            “Al, we’ve got to move soon…” she says quietly.

            Alistair hangs his head and closes his eyes.

            “I know… I know this is—”

            “You don’t know shit,” interrupts Alistair. He looks up just in time to see her recoil. He’s being a bully; he can feel it.

            “You think you’re the only person who lost someone?” asks Isabela thickly.

            Alistair blinks. That feeling of shame is back. “Who?”

            Isabela shakes her head. “Morrigan…” She pauses, presumably waiting for him to say something. “...our location scout?”

            Alistair nods. “I know who she is…” His mind adds, _to you_.

            “But we can’t sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, Alistair,” she adds. “We have to move.”

            Alistair nods slowly. They stare at each other. Isabela keeps sipping air.

            Alistair narrows his eyes. “ _What_?”

            “It’s just… I think they’re out there,” she says suddenly.

            “How can you possibly know that?”

            She scoots closer to him inside the tent — until their knees bump. “Because my Morrigan… she’s tough… and if there’s anything I’ve learned on this crazy trek across the jungle, it’s that Anders is too — everyone on this trip… they all have _so much_ heart.

            Alistair feels tears well in his eyes again. Under the circumstances, he can’t imagine how she’s harnessing this level of composure. He decides right then: she’s twice the person he is.

            “...and we’re tough too,” she adds. “So get up and help me.”

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Over-the-shoulder shot of Alistair and Anders slogging through the underbrush. Bird and bug sounds.]

 

**Isabela/VO** : So, how are you two feeling so far?

**Anders** ( _turning partially to face the camera_ ): Pretty good, don’t you think, Al?

( _Alistair shrugs_.)

**Anders** : It’s taking us longer to get through this part than we thought… we’re still really far from CHARGE… so that’s not great.

**Alistair** : At least it isn’t hot or buggy or intermittently raining… I mean… oh yeah… it _is_ … all of those things.

( _Anders laughs and elbows Alistair in the ribs_.)

**Isabela/VO** : Do you think we’re going to meet any resistance as we get closer to the coast?

**Alistair** : I hope not.

**Anders** : I don’t see why we would; we aren’t doing anything aggressive.

**Alistair** ( _giving him a look_ ): Not from _our_ perspective, you mean.

**Anders** ( _shrugging_ ): Yeah… I guess I don’t really know. ( _beat_ ) Either way, I think we’re going to be fine… what’s the worst that could happen?

**Alistair** : You’re such a ray of sunshine today… what’s that about?

( _Alistair and Anders laugh. Anders almost trips over a root; Alistair catches him under the arm_.)

**Anders** : What is there to be gloomy about? We’re in this together.

   

* * *

* * *

## Day 30 - Anders

 

            “You’re going to have to let us rest sometime,” Dorian says. Anders only hears it peripherally. They’ve been walking for so long that he can barely even feel his feet on the ground. It seems more like he’s floating.

            “Shut up,” yells one of the guards. He hits Dorian in the back with the butt of his gun and growls from under his helmet. He’s the one Anders has been calling _Steve_ in his mind. He had to give them names and _Steve_ is the least inventive one of the bunch. He resorts of grunting and hitting sooner than any of the other guards seem to.

            “Attacking me is only going to make me walk more slowly,” says Dorian.

            Anders closes his eyes before the second blow lands. It’s been a week of this; he doesn’t have any fight left in him.

 

            Eventually, they _do_ stop. As has become customary in the last week, they’re separated for a while and interrogated. Anders doesn’t say a word — he couldn’t even if he wanted to; he doesn’t know a single answer. They want to know about troop formations on the northern Imperium border. They want to know _names_. At first he yelled and cried that he didn’t know the first thing about any of it, but they beat him _harder_ when he argued, so now he stays quiet — even as his lip is split and his ear bleeds into a river down his jaw.

            It’s safer, though. They used to be a group of six. Now Dorian and Anders are the only ones left…

            “You look even worse than I feel,” whispers Dorian that night.

            There is a small window of time each night when they’re alone together. It reminds Anders of the nights back in his little apartment with Alistair — sharing secrets in the dark — except everything about this is colored by pain and fear. He can’t even smile — something about the expression is wrong. With Alistair, Anders used to _really_ smile.

            “Are you all right?” Anders asks.

            Dorian shrugs. His left eye is swollen shut, but he manages to bark a laugh. “Did you talk tonight?”

            Anders laughs too, although it’s a quiet, sick-sounding thing. “Yeah, I told them all about my cat growing up and the way my knee acts up when it’s going to rain…”

            “Me too… a story about the time my nanny was accused of stealing two silver candlesticks.” Dorian wipes his face against a dirty piece of cloth from his pocket. “It was actually me — I’d taken them after reading _Les Miserables_.”

            “You _read_ Les Mis?” Anders asks. “That is a terrible book.”

            Dorian shrugs. “I love all the intrigue — mistaken identity… love triangles… personal reinvention…”

            “Gender swap Eponine and I’m on board,” says Anders.

            Dorian laughs, but it turns into a cough — deep and wet-sounding.

            “Are you all right?” asks Anders. He leans in and puts a hand on Dorian’s chest, as if he’s going to be able to do anything about it.

            Dorian shakes his head. “I think my ribs are broken… infection maybe… Too bad your other half isn’t here; I have a feeling I could use a doctor…”

            Anders bites the inside of his lip. “Here.” He rips the hem off his shirt and wraps it around Dorian’s chest into a rudimentary brace.

            “Thanks,” says Dorian.

            “Get some sleep…”

            Dorian turns onto his other side and the whole world seems to grow quiet — even the chirping bugs and far-off frogs find a quiet kind of rhythm. The only person not sleeping seems to be Anders. He misses Alistair — the gentle way his breathing sounds when he’s asleep... instead, all he can hear is Dorian, wheezing and gasping into the night.

_Please, let him live_ , thinks Anders. Then he scoffs — almost silent, but full of derision — he’s never believed in any kind of god… but he’s willing to try _anything_ now.

 

* * *

* * *

[Shot opens on a mostly-closed door in Alistair and Anders’ apartment. Voices can be heard behind it. As the camera comes closer, the door opens several inches wider and a conversation can be heard.]

 

**Alistair** : I’m willing to do whatever you want… just… just come _home_.

**Anders** : I can’t. Not yet.

**Alistair** : Not _yet_ or not ever?! (Silence.) I don’t understand…

( _A groan, unclear which of them has made the sound_.)

**Alistair** ( _suddenly yelling_ ): I’m sorry, Andy. I’m sorry!

**Anders** : Is that going to bring him back?!

**Alistair** : No. Of course not. Apologies don’t mean a damn thing to the dead... ( _cries_ ) But I thought it might mean something to _you_.

(Silence.)

**Anders** : I thought you wanted to give me my stuff?

**Alistair** : It’s here. It’s all here.

( _Anders suddenly walks into the shot, carrying a huge bag and looking furious_.)

**Anders** ( _into the camera_ ): What the— have you been filming this? Fuck you, Bel… I thought you were— ( _closes his eyes, exhales sharply_ ) I thought you were better than this…

**Isabela/VO** : Better than what, Anders? You’re walking out on the person who loves you most in the world. He fought for you every day.

**Anders** : That has nothing to do with you… or this fucking film. It’s over, Isabela. Just leave us alone.

**Isabela/VO** : This film is the only thing I have left. I’m going to finish it if it kills me.

( _Silence. Anders glares at Isabela over the camera._ )

**Anders** : Morrigan would be ashamed of you.

**Alistair** ( _in the background_ ): Don’t blame her, Andy — this isn’t her fault. She lost—

**Anders** ( _turning around_ ): Oh yeah? Whose fault is it? Seems to me that without her and Varric, none of this would have happened.

( _Silence_.)

**Anders** : In fact, ( _turning back to the camera_ ) without you and your fucking film and Varric’s agenda, I think… ( _voice breaking_ ) I think Morrigan might still be alive… Dorian, too.

**Isabela/VO** : Anders... how could you—

**Anders** ( _holding up a hand_ ): Stop. Don’t follow me.

 

[Anders walks out of the shot and Alistair is left in the background, looking miserable.]

* * *

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

## Day 32 - Anders

           

            “Anders?”

            _Silence_.

            “Anders!?”

“What?” mumbles Anders. He blinks into darkness a few times until his eyes start to accommodate. Dorian’s leaning over him, looking horrified. “What is it?”

            “We’ve gotta go; right now.”

            “Go?” asks Anders. “Where?”

            “Sshhhh! Shut up and grab your shit.”

            “What shit?” They have virtually nothing with them, save what clothes they’re wearing.

            “We need to _go_ ,” Dorian reiterates. “Come on.”

 

            They run all night. Anders doesn’t know how they manage it — how they escaped in the first place, even — but he follows Dorian without question until the sun has begun to rise over the mountains. It’s beautiful, but Anders knows now how deadly it all can be.

            “We can stop here,” says Dorian, surveying the ground. “If we can sleep for a few hours, we’ll be better equipped to head out when it’s dark again…”

            “Head out where?” asks Anders. He’s trying not to sound ungrateful, but he doesn’t see the logic in this. “Do you have an actual _plan_?”

            Dorian manages to smile, although Anders can’t imagine _how_. “I always have a plan.”

            Anders swallows thoughtfully. “Okay…” As he tries to make a space for himself, he thinks about that: plans. They had a plan when they came out here — he and Alistair. They were going to do this and then finally settle down. They would buy a house, get a dog… maybe even have kids. They’d get to start a _new_ kind of life — something gentle, and kind, and wholly unfamiliar to either of them.

            “Anders, we got away,” says Dorian suddenly.

            “I know… thank you.”

            But Anders has a feeling — something nagging and dark — that this newfound freedom is as fleeting and impermanent as that plan was… even if he sees Alistair again, he suddenly knows: they’ll never have that life.

  

* * *

* * *

 

[Shot opens on Isabela, Alistair, and several other crew members hunched over a map.]

 

 **Varric/VO** : Can you explain what you’re doing there?

 **Alistair** ( _glaring up at the camera_ ): We’re trying to figure out where the _fuck_ everyone is. God damn it, Var… Andraste….this isn’t the time...

( _Isabela puts a hand on Alistair’s arm. He turns his head sharply to look at it, continuing to glare, but softens when they make eye contact. The moment stretches_.)

 **Alistair** ( _clears throat_ ): We’re comparing the movements of this group vs the roadblocks we’ve been encountering… tracing their movements… trying to figure out what the fuck they could possibly want.

( _Varric makes a sound. Isabela looks up, incredulous_.)

 **Isabela** : what do you _know_?

 **Varric/VO** : Nothing. I’m just getting this in case we need it… later...

 **Isabela** ( _standing, looming over the camera_ ): Tell us what the _fuck_ you know, Varric, or I swear to god, you won’t piss straight for a month.

 **Varric/VO** : It has to do with the war… it’s… um… shit.

( _Camera pans wildly, facing the ground_.)

 **Alistair** (yelling out of shot): Don’t you dare turn that camera off, Varric. I want everyone to know what you know.

 **Varric/VO** : We’re not out here to make a documentary; we’re here to gather intel… for the Imperium…

 **Isabela** ( _distantly_ ): what the actual _fuck_ …Did Dorian know?!

 **Varric/VO** : Of course he didn’t. You think that kid would have signed on for that? He eats hope for breakfast and shits idealism. Andraste’s ass...

 **Isabela** : this is just fucking great… ( _voice fades_ )

( _Camera swings up again, just barely catching Alistair’s face. He looks ashen_.)

 

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 37 - Anders

 

            “So how did you get together, anyway?” asks Dorian.

            “What?” Anders looks up from the fire he’s failing to start. “What are you talking about?”

            Dorian smiles. It doesn’t escape Anders’ attention that he isn’t helping. “Alistair. How did you meet him?”

            Anders rolls his eyes. “This hardly seems like the time.”

            “You’d rather just obsess over the ways in which we’re likely to die?” asks Dorian. “ _That_ seems productive.” Then he pulls out the camera. “If not for me, do it for the film.”

            Anders laughs bitterly. “Give it a rest… there is not going to be a film, Dorian… we’re on the run, people are _dead_ — have you noticed?”

            “Keep your pessimism to yourself,” he laughs.

            Anders doesn’t want to do it, but he feels himself almost smile… it’s so like something Alistair would say. He sighs, realizing there’s no arguing with this level of optimism — or denial. “It was a series of coincidences, really,” he says. He lets his eyes lose focus, remembering. “He always tells it like we met at a conference… but we knew each other before that, actually…”

            “Oh yeah?” asks Dorian. He adjusts the camera, but it doesn’t look like he’s doing anything useful with it to Anders. It seems more like a prop than anything else.

            “Yeah… I knew his _work_ first,” says Anders. “We communicated through emails and phone calls for more than a year… It’s funny; when I heard him speak the first time, his voice wasn’t what I expected…” He laughs. “He talks so fast.”

            “So when you finally met — in real life,” Dorian asks, “what was that like?”

            “Kind of…” he’s about to say ‘amazing’ or ‘magical’ or something equally ridiculous, when he remembers where they are. It hits him so strongly, he interrupts himself. “What is the point of these questions?”

            Dorian doesn’t look fazed; he smiles, actually. “I’m trying to understand what kind of a person you are.”

            “Well, don’t define me by Alistair,” says Anders. He barks a laugh, “We couldn’t be more different.”

            “Maybe that’s what makes it work?” suggests Dorian.

            “Maybe… but I think, more than anything, it’s that he won’t let me stop believing in us.”

            Dorian laughs. “What does that mean?”

            “I’m not sure, exactly… it’s more of a _theme_ than anything he does actively.” Anders pokes the burgeoning fire with a stick. He’s about to say more when voices erupt from the bushes. Quicker than he knows he’s capable, he douses the fire and grabs Dorian by the arm. He barely has time to grab what few belongings they have.

 

            When they’re hidden in the underbrush 100 yards away, he tries not to pant, but his lungs burn. “Holy fuck.”

            Flat on their stomachs, side by side, they wait. It seems interminable. Anders feels like this is the embodiment of relativity. Just a few weeks ago, he and Alistair were in bed like this — refusing to get up, warm between the sheets — and the moment passed in the blink of an eye. He would give almost anything to be back there.

            _Maker_ … He doesn’t even know if Alistair is alive.

            “Hey, are you okay?” whispers Dorian.

            “Yeah,” Anders lies.

            “They’re not close; we got away… this time...” says Dorian. He turns onto his side so they’re nearly face to face. He doesn’t look sure, though. He looks like a person trying _not_ to seem scared.

            “It’s not that.”

            “Then what is it?” Dorian asks.

            “It’s…I can’t... we’re still out here... _alive_ …” but Anders doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s everything. It’s Alistair. It’s the jungle. It’s the uncertainty. It’s his _whole life_.

            ...so when Dorian closes the distance of two inches and kisses him, he doesn’t pull away… and when Dorian apologizes — _emotions_ , and _survival_ and _the weight of the world lifted_ — he shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Alistair looking directly into the camera. Background obscured, but jungle sounds indicate the location.]

 

 **Alistair** : Well, I guess we’re really doing this. Here we are — in the middle of the jungle.

( _Rustling. Camera shakes_.)

 **Anders** : What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.

 **Alistair** ( _laughing over his shoulder, presumably at Anders_ ): They said we’re supposed to do ‘confessionals’ or whatever…

 **Anders** : _Now?_

 **Alistair** : I’m super jetlagged.

 **Anders** ( _laughing_ ): Just do it quietly. This is a documentary, not a reality show. _Goodnight_.

( _Long pause, shifting_.)

 **Alistair** ( _whispering_ ): It feels really interesting to be out here. I was always a city person — even as a kid, the countryside kind of freaked me out. I didn’t like all that space — all that solitude. It made me feel really exposed. I’m pretty surprised that I’m not having a harder time than I am.

( _Shifting again. Alistair leans in so his face fills the whole shot_.)

 **Alistair** : I think it has to do with Andy, though. He makes me so brave.

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 42 - Alistair

 

            In the moments before Alistair opens his eyes, he hallucinates that everything is okay. The air smells sweet — moss and rainwater. A balmy breeze rustles the flaps of his tent. Anders complained about it the first few nights they were here — he couldn’t sleep without city noises — but they laughed together and found that virtually anything was possible side by side. That was _always_ their way — making it work, despite the circumstances.

 

            “Andy?” whispers Alistair into the emptiness of the tent. “Andy, are you awake?” He doesn’t open his eyes yet. “I know, I know… ten more minutes…” He rolls onto his side and buries his face in what used to be Anders’ pillow. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, but Alistair takes it out of his pack every night and carefully repacks it every morning just the same.

            “It’s going to be a long day… again…” continues Alistair. “But you know that… I guess you’re smarter than I am… get some more sleep while you can.”

            Alistair swallows — his throat suddenly a desert. It’s time to open his eyes. It’s hard every morning, but today it’s harder than ever. “It’s the second of Bloomingtide, Andy. I hope you don’t think you can get out of celebrating your birthday just because we’re in the middle of the jungle…” he tries to laugh, but it catches somewhere deep in his larynx.

His mind slips: golden hair, soaked with sweat… but he’s smiling… climbing over roots and under vines. He lived for this— _lives_ … he’s alive. He… he _has_ to be.

 

            “Al, are you ready to head out?” shouts Varric. Alistair knows Varric is behind the camera without looking. He uses a _particular_ timbre when he knows his voice will end up recorded somewhere. It’s annoying, but becoming less-so all the time. A few weeks ago, Alistair felt invaded by the constant prying… the cameras, the lights… now they’re all he knows… now that everything has gone to shit.

            The documentary wasn’t any more Anders’ idea than it was Alistair’s. It was the university’s… and since they were ultimately footing the bill for this, they got the final say. The crew practiced for a few days before they left home, but it didn’t prepare Alistair for what it would _feel_ like. Anders liked it even less.

            “Yeah, I’m ready,” says Alistair. He crawls out from inside his tent and starts mechanically packing its poles and stakes.

            As he predicted, the crew is there, cameras rolling, microphones looming. The number of battery packs and wires is staggering—like a nest of coiled rubber snakes wherever they go.

            Every day out here is a special kind of torture. In a stroke of cosmic irony, Alistair still has most of their gear; he retained the majority of their supplies. _Anders_ was the one who insisted they bring so much fucking stuff: ‘be prepared to give everything possible to those who need it’.

The film crew are all still going through the motions under Varric’s direction. well… everyone except Isabela. She’s trying to do the right thing… to find them… Alistair shivers.

It makes him feel guilty, but Alistair has wished every day that he could trade one of these assholes— _any_ one of them—for _him..._ Anders.

 

            “We’re just over sixty kilometers from the border,” says Varric. He’s not talking to Alistair; it’s one of the production assistants who has asked the question. It seems ridiculous, really—that _anyone_ could forget. Alistair has felt _every step_ they’ve taken toward the sea—every step closer to where Anders might be.

            Some of the others have complained about the pace. Alistair hears them meekly grumbling, but he grits his teeth and ignores them; it gets harder every day. He’d like to see any one of them tolerate this— _survive_ this.

            “Come on, Varr… let’s go,” says Alistair.

            Varric nods and lifts the camera onto his shoulder. “This is day 42, Dr. Theirin… how are you feeling?”

            “How do you _think_ I’m feeling?” snaps Alistair. He turns away from the camera and stomps off through the thick underbrush.

            “Al… come on…” complains Varric, but it blends into the sounds of cicadas and far-off rain. He takes quick steps to catch Alistair and lowers his voice. “Do you think you’re going to find him?”

            Alistair stops dead. He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his lip so hard he winces, but it still isn’t hard enough to stop the words: “Get that fucking thing out of my face,” he shouts.

            “—Alistair… calm down…” Varric starts to say.

            “I’m not kidding; shut the fuck up,” growls Alistair. The look he gives Varric and the assorted assistants lands threateningly—even without a mirror, Alistair can tell. He watches their collected expressions curdle into thinly veiled horror. “Now… we have a shitton of ground to cover. Let’s go.” He shoulders his bag and walks off ahead of the group. This time, no one tries to oppose him.

 

            ‘ _Al, you’re being sort of a bear_ …’ says a voice.

            Alistair cringes.

            ‘ _It’s not their fault, you know_ …’ The Anders in his head smirks—smug and a little disappointed, but _kind._

            Alistair has always been a hothead. He channeled it into useful tasks; he found ways to make it work, but it’s still _there_ —waiting to make him seem like a neanderthal. With Anders it was easy to keep it in check. Now, he’s struggling.

            ‘ _Love, you’re going to get through this_.’

            Alistair doesn’t stop walking, although his knees threaten to buckle.

            ‘ _Just keep walking… one foot in front of the other_.’

            “Okay, Anders,” he breathes. “I will.”

  

* * *

* * *

 

[Night. Jungle sounds. Dimly lit tent.]

 

 **Anders** : Well, we’re getting settled in… first night in the jungle…

 **Alistair** : Are you scared?

( _They laugh._ )

 **Anders** : I’m only scared of two things… ( _looking at camera_ ) Bears and religious people… have you seen either of those?

 **Alistair** ( _ruffling the back of Anders’ hair_ ): Not yet… I’ll watch out for them, sweetie.

 **Anders** ( _glaring at Alistair_ ): I thought we agreed not to use pet names on camera… you’re ruining my image.

 **Alistair** ( _laughing_ ): Yeah, everyone who watches documentaries is so hardcore.

 **Anders** ( _looking back into the camera_ ): He doesn’t actually know what hardcore means.

 

[Laughing. Gentle nature sounds. Fade to black.]

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 47 - Anders

 

            “Something feels wrong,” says Anders suddenly.     

            “What about this seems _right_?” laughs Dorian. He’s sitting on the edge of a rock with his chin resting against his fist. He looks like a piece of art more than a person. Anders is starting to see everything as something else at this point; reality seems nebulous and changeable.

            “I mean… where did they all go? Why were we alone in the first place?” Anders reiterates.

            Dorian shrugs — it seems more avoidant than insouciant, though.

            “It just…” Anders sighs, leaning forward so he’s looking into Dorian’s eyes. “I hate to say this, but it feels like they let us go.”

            Dorian doesn’t say anything.

            Anders can’t tell if it’s a function of fear or of mental decline, but it feels like that silence means _something_. Maybe he’s starving to death — they’ve been out here long enough that he can’t remember the last time they ate.

            “...and if they did let us go,” continues Anders, “maybe they’re following us.”

            Dorian suddenly looks up. “Anders… they didn’t let us go.”

            Anders squints. “How do you know that?”

            Dorian rolls his eyes and scoffs. He won’t make eye contact. “I just _know_ , all right? Leave it.”

            Anders. “Dorian, you’re scaring me.”

            “I _killed_ the night guard…all right?!”

            The air seems preternaturally still for a moment and then Anders gasps. His mind fills with memories of the nights they spent locked up. There was only _one_ guard who treated them like they were people — and now he’s dead. He swallows, throat suddenly dry and painful.

            “Anders…” Dorian suddenly scrambles across the clearing and grabs both sides of Anders’ face. “Anders, I did what I had to to get us out of there.” He pauses, eyes searching Anders’ face. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Andy.”

            He’s going to argue that he _isn’t_ giving up. He’s just shocked and hurt and he can’t _believe_ any of this… but… _Andy_. The only person who has ever called him that is Alistair. His voice dies in his throat.

            “Andy!” Dorian says again. He pulls on Anders’ face roughly until their noses are only inches apart. “You listen to me. You’re going to get out of here, Andy… I’m… not going to let anything happen to you.”

            Anders runs his tongue over a split section of his lower lip. It stings, but the action is mindless. All he can think about is Dorian, standing here — preventing the inevitable. It’s then that he realizes, Dorian is his whole world now. And it’s that realization that makes him reach out. He grabs for Dorian and pulls him against his chest. The motion is shaky and rough. They almost stumble, but their arms wrap around each other and it feels like a lifeline.

            “What…?” Dorian mumbles. “I—”

            “Don’t,” says Anders. “Just… just stay with me.”

  

* * *

* * *

 

[At the CHARGE camp. A tall, thin woman in silhouette against a tent wall. As the camera focuses, we see that it’s Morrigan. Lanterns flickering peripherally.]

 

 **Isabela/VO** : Hey honey.

 **Morrigan** ( _laughing toward the camera_ ): Are you filming again? I thought we talked about this. I’m a behind-the-scenes type.

 **Isabela/VO** : We did… but I think we need to re-negotiate. You’re so beautiful. The camera _loves_ you.

 **Morrigan** : I already sleep with you… you don’t need to butter me up. ( _Looks at Isabela over the camera; laughs._ )

 **Isabela/VO** : I can’t help it. You make me feel like a romance-idiot.

 **Morrigan** : Is that a term?

 **Isabela/VO** : It is now…

 

[Camera jostles, eventually lands on a table. Isabela says something inaudible, rounds to the front and eventually to Morrigan. Fade to black.]

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 48 - Alistair

 

            “What the hell are you saying?” shouts Isabela. She’s been yelling for so long that Alistair can’t really listen anymore.

            “I’m saying that I did what I had to… I’ve been protecting the country!” says Varric.

            “Oh that’s rich.” Isabela scoffs, rounding the table so she’s looking at Varric face to face. When she leans across it, there’s a threat in her voice. “You’ve been padding your pockets, Varric... plain and simple. You took money from the university; you took it from the investors; and you took it from the fucking ‘vints.”

            That’s the part Alistair still doesn’t understand. He perks up in his chair and squints. “Why did they come to you, Varric?” he asks.

            Varric and Isabela turn to look at him in unison. It’s like they’re just realizing he’s there.

            “They want an end to this political unrest, Al,” says Varric. He scoffs around the words, like he’s explaining it to a child. “They want to know how many military instalments are near the border; they want troop rotations and information about refugees. Andraste’s ass…”

            “No,” says Alistair quietly. “I mean why did they come to _you..._ specifically?”

            Isabela’s eyebrows narrow. “Yeah, Varric…. Why you?”

            Varric looks down at his lap and wrings his hands. “I, uh… have a brother… shit at business — he crossed the wrong people this time.”

            “God damn it, Varric, I knew you had an angle,” yells Isabela.

            Alistair just sighs. He wants to be angry, but compromises for a loved one is something he understands intimately.

            Silence falls.

            “So what do we do now?” Alistair says quietly.

            Isabela shrugs. “We go to the meeting.”

            “What meeting?” asks Alistair.

            Isabela looks at Varric. “There’s a meeting, right?”

            Varric nods. “Of course there is. They contacted Bull already — tomorrow, two kilos west of here.”

            Isabela swallows. “And if we turn over the footage?”

            “They’ll give us our people back… supposedly,” says Varric.

            Isabela gasps.

            Alistair stands, putting a hand on her shoulder. “She’s okay, Bel… I know it.”

            Isabela nods, but she doesn’t seem sure. Alistair recognizes it because it’s how he feels, too.

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 48 - Anders

 

            “Get down!” whispers Dorian. He drops to the ground and pulls Anders with him.

            Anders’ face smashes against a root and he’s instantly bleeding from a gash on his cheek. “What’s going on?” he mouths.

            “Someone’s out there.”

            They lie side by side on the ground so long that Anders is _sure_ he’s going to die here. Eventually, when his neck is threatening to get stuck in full rotation, he rises onto all fours as quietly as he can. That’s when all hell breaks loose. The trees are suddenly filled with shouting and gunshots.

            “Come on, Andy!” Dorian yells. He grabs Anders’ hand and pulls.

            Anders tries to follow; he stumbles and reels. Then he drops to his knees. A quick inventory of his body tells the story — stray bullet to his leg, blood, gore. He can’t run.

            “Just go, Dorian, please…”

            Dorian shakes his head, dropping down at Anders’ side. He presses his hands over the wound. “I’m not leaving you.”

            “You have to go!” yells Anders. He can barely hear himself over the din, but the anguish comes through anyway. Dorian has to leave — he has to _live_.

            Dorian pushes down on the wound, although there’s already blood forming a puddle in the wet leaves. “Not. Without. You.”

            Anders thinks, _then we’re both dead_ , but that isn’t what he says. Instead, he hears himself say, “Fine. Then we’re in this… together.”

            The next thing he knows, a bag is over his head and he’s being dragged… and then the lights go out.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Clearing. Camera isn’t pointing at anything in particular, just resting. It’s clear that whoever is filming doesn’t want to be noticed doing it.]

 

 **Isabela** ( _sotto voice_ ): Where the fuck is she?

 **Alistair** : Where are _any_ of them?

 **Varric/VO** : Feels like a setup.

 **Isabela** : If it is, it’s on you.

( _A heavily armed qunari emerges from the tree line and approaches, gun holstered, but within easy reach_.)

 **Sten** : Do you have the tape?

 **Varric/VO** : It’s all here.

 **Sten** ( _grunts_ ): Hand it over and we’ll talk.

( _Camera shakes_.)

 **Isabela** : Do you have our people?

 **Sten** : That isn’t the deal.

 **Isabela** ( _looking at Alistair_ ): What?

( _Alistair’s jaw flexes. He remains silent._ )

 **Sten** : Hand over the footage and we’ll produce them.

 **Isabela** : We need to see that they’re ( _voice cracks_ ) alive... first.

 **Sten** : We’ve got two.

 **Isabela** ( _whispering to Alistair_ ): Two people? Out of everyone? ( _Gasps, a panicked expression crosses her face_.) Where’s everyone else?

 **Sten** : Do you want them or not?

 **Isabela** ( _to Alistair_ ): Al, what the fuck is going on?

 **Alistair** ( _ignoring her_ ): Bring them out. We’ve got what you want.

 

[Shot terminated suddenly.]

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

## Day 53 - Anders

 

            He knows Alistair is speaking — knows he’s supposed to answer in some capacity — but Anders doesn’t say a word. He can’t remember how.

            It’s been twenty-four hours since they arrived back on Ferelden soil. The rescue operation all went smoothly, _said everyone_. Well, everyone except Anders. He knows what they lost… _who_ … they lost.

            “Anders? Did you hear me?” asks Alistair.

            Anders blinks, clears his throat. “I’m sorry. What?”

            “It’s okay,” says Alistair. He reaches out to take Anders’ hand where it’s lying against the scratchy hospital sheets, but Anders retracts. He doesn’t even know _why_ , but it happens.

            “Please…” Anders mumbles.

            Alistair swallows visibly, but nods. “I asked if you’re ready to talk to the investigators.”

            Anders shakes his head. “Not remotely.”

            “Okay. I’ll see if I can hold them off…” says Alistair.

            There’s a long pause then, in which Anders finds himself anticipating each beep of the heart monitor. They’re regular, predictable… how can they be when his heart feels like it will beat out of his chest? When _nothing_ is as it should be?

            “The doctors said you can come home today,” says Alistair suddenly.

            “Home?”

            Alistair’s lip quirks. “Yeah… home…”

            ...and Anders remembers it — the _idea_ of it — but it doesn’t feel like a place he ever lived.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Graveyard. Light rain falling. A group huddled around a casket. Someone speaking, too softly to hear. Anders is at the periphery, leaning against a tree, head bowed. Camera moves slowly forward.]

 

 **Eulogizer** ( _approaching a podium_ ): He was a great friend. I used to harass him daily… but… it was the kind of relationship that really only comes along a few times in a life.

( _Scattered laughter_.)

 **Eulogizer** : He was kind to everyone, even despite all his artificial layers of snobbery and sarcasm. That’s what I liked best about him — it took a while to know his insides.

( _Anders gasps at the edge of the shot. Shudders and wraps his arms around himself._ )

 **Isabela/VO** : I’m so sorry, Anders.

 **Anders** ( _wiping his face suddenly_ ): Thanks…

 **Isabela/VO** : I can give you a minute…

( _Anders shrugs and eventually shakes his head_.)

 

[Fade to black.]

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 54 - Alistair

 

            “Andy?” calls Alistair. “I’m home.”

            Anders doesn’t say anything, but something crashes in their study and he swears unintelligibly.

            “Are you okay?” Alistair rounds the corner and finds Anders on the floor, looking into his backpack. “What are you doing?”

            “Trying to find the fucking pages…” says Anders, without looking up.

            “Pages?”

            “Yes,” Anders growls. “We were writing things down… trying to remember…” He suddenly drops his face into his hands. “Where the fuck are they?”

            Alistair kneels next to Anders, careful not to touch him. He seems like a wild thing — easy to spook and quick to run.

            “I just don’t understand. They were right here,” continues Anders. “Fucking customs or the investigators or… I don’t even know…”

            “What did you need the papers for?” asks Alistair quietly.

            Anders looks up for the first time. His eyes are red and glassy. “They were the last thing I had… the last piece… and he’s — he’s gone now.”

            Alistair bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moving toward Anders. He isn’t the same as he was — a hug won’t help.

            “Al, I need to be alone for a while…” says Anders, looking back down at his things strewn out across the floor.

            Everything in Alistair screams out at him not to go, but he loves Anders… so all he says is, “Okay…”

  

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 60 - Alistair

 

            “Did you _hear_ what they asked me?” says Anders in disgust.

            Alistair shrugs. It didn’t seem that bad to him. Actually, it was among the more mild of these police interviews. “They just wanted to know if Dorian knew about Varric’s involvement… he was the producer; it makes sense…” he trails off when Anders glares.

            “He didn’t know a fucking thing,” says Anders. “ _Clearly…_ he was trapped with me for weeks. I mean, how _dare_ they ask me that?”

            Alistair knows he shouldn’t say the thing he’s thinking, but he’s _tired_ , so it happens anyway. “Well, it’s not as if you really _knew_ him, Andy… you were strangers before all that.”

            “ _Everyone_ is a stranger before they know each other.”

            “I suppose… I just mean… you can’t really know what he knew beforehand; can you?”

            Anders glares; Alistair bites his bottom lip and swallows, wishing he’d never said anything.

            “Trust me; I _know_ ,” says Anders. He throws open a cabinet door and pulls out a bottle of scotch and one highball glass. “Sometimes I think I knew him better than _anyone_.”

            Alistair feels a knot forming in his gut. It’s anger and abandonment and jealousy… and he knows it’s misplaced — that Anders is hurting — but he can’t stop. This hurts _him_ , too.

            “Andy, I’m out of ideas; just tell me what you need and I’ll do it,” says Alistair.

            “You don’t need ideas; just stop talking,” snaps Anders.

            “What?”

            “Just _stop_ ,” repeats Anders. He tosses his head back and drains the glass before immediately pouring another.

            “Andy, what does that even _mean_?” asks Alistair.

            Anders rolls his eyes.

            “Stop… talking to you? Communicating with you?” Alistair’s fishing and he knows the activity is likely to make everything worse, but he’s exhausted. “I know you went through something horrible and I’m trying to be cognizant of that… but Andy, I did too…” He pauses, trying to gauge a reaction. When Anders’ expression doesn’t change, he continues, “I chased you across an entire jungle. I sacrificed _everything_ to get you back. I _love_ you.”

            Anders doesn’t say anything — doesn’t even blink — but his body tenses, as if he’s holding himself together against a hurricane-force wind. The silence stretches.

            “And I just wish you’d talk to me about it — even if you can’t talk to anyone else,” says Alistair. There’s finality in his voice that he can’t understand. He didn’t mean it as an ultimatum, but it sounds like one.

            “I can’t do this,” says Anders suddenly.

            Alistair runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning…”

            “No,” Anders interrupts. “I can’t do _this_ … at all… not anymore.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Shot opens with Anders out on the curb in front of his apartment. He has just come from inside and looks furious. As the camera comes closer, we can see that his eyes are glassy.]

 

 **Anders** : Isabela, the documentary is over. ( _Silence, he makes a face_ ) In fact, it was a fucking lie from the beginning; wasn’t it?

 **Isabela/VO** : What happened in there, Andy?

 **Anders** ( _scoffing_ ): Don’t fucking call me that.

 **Isabela/VO** : Is Alistair okay?

( _Anders eyes Isabela, just to the right of the camera’s lens. His look is suspicious and accusatory._ )

 **Anders** : You _would_ like to know, wouldn’t you? Well, I’m not standing in your goddamn way… ( _steps off the curb and attempts to hails a cab_ ) Go inside and find out.

 **Isabela** : You don’t know what you’re talking about.

( _Long period of silence, while the camera moves from the apartment building to the long city street and back. Anders still hasn’t found a cab._ )

 **Isabela/VO** : You’re not the only one who lost someone, you know… and _you’re_ still… ( _gasps_ )... alive.

 **Anders** : yeah… I… ( _looking down, then back up at Isabela gently_ ) I was with Morrigan, you know… at the end… she—

 **Isabela** : Don’t. ( _Gasps_ ) Don’t you dare.

 **Anders** ( _expression_ _hardening_ ): yeah, well… maybe we _are_ alive… maybe all the wrong people are.

 

[Shot falls toward the curb as Isabela argues unintelligibly. Cut to black.]

  

 

* * *

* * *

## Day 68 - Alistair

 

            “Are you ready to begin?” asks the Investigator.

            Alistair can’t remember her name… something with three syllables? He _does_ remember that the name doesn’t fit her — she’s very severe looking: short hair and sharp features. The name is something comparatively flowery, he thinks, but he can’t quite place it. In trying to figure it out, he realizes he hasn’t answered the question. She’s looking at him expectantly.

            He clears his throat. “Yes… at least, as ready as I’m going to be…”

            “Did you know Varric Tethras before this expedition?” she asks.

            “No… well, kind of…”

            She arches an eyebrow at him.

            “We met about a month before we left,” he clarifies. “The documentary began when we were still at home — getting ready to leave.”

            “Uh huh…” She looks down at a clipboard on the table between them and hums.

            The room is too hot. Alistair doesn’t have much — any — experience with police stations or investigations, but he wonders if the heat is intentional. There’s also an irregular whirring sound that seems like a mild form of torture.

            “And when did you learn of Tethras’ full involvement?”

            Alistair squints at her. _What’s she getting at_? “After my partner and the others were taken… a few days later.”

            “Partner? Why aren’t you married?”

            “That’s a little personal…” he says. It’s a snap response; he doesn’t mean to be adversarial, but with the way they left things… it hurts to even think about Anders, let alone talk about him in this context.

            “Answer the question,” she says flatly.

            “I was married once; I’m not into the institution anymore,” he answers. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love him.” His internal narrator adds, ‘didn’t… _past tense._ ’

  

* * *

* * *

 

[Shot opens shakily. Camera seems to be sideways. Anders and Dorian are a few feet away, lying on the floor of a cell, badly out of focus.]

 

 **Anders** : What are you doing?

 **Dorian** ( _coughing, backing away from the camera further_ ): This is important.

 **Anders** ( _scoffing_ ): Dorian, you’re hurt. Give it a rest.

 **Dorian** : Anders… ( _moving so their faces are barely inches apart_ ) This is all I have left.

( _Silence_.)

 **Anders** : So what do you need, Dor? ...for the film?

 **Dorian** ( _clearing his throat_ ): Tell us a little about your plans for when you get home.

( _Anders looks crestfallen, but he runs a hand through his dirty hair and straightens until he’s partially sitting up_.)

 **Anders** : I’m going to go back to teaching.

 **Dorian** : Same subjects?

 **Anders** : Maybe… and maybe a few others. Part of my post-doc work was actually in art history… can you imagine?

 **Dorian** ( _laughing_ ): I can absolutely imagine that.

 **Anders** : Well, after _this_ , I bet they’ll let me do anything at all… they’ll practically _have to_.

( _Dorian scoots closer, sits up_.)

 **Dorian** : And what about personally? Anything you’d change there?

 **Anders** : What are you getting at?

 **Dorian** ( _shrugging_ ): Nothing. I just… wondered…

 **Anders** : I don’t know. I can’t — I can’t really think about that right now.

 **Dorian** : C’mon, Andy. All we have left are thoughts.

( _Silence. They look at each other. The tension is visible even despite the failing light_.)

 **Anders** : Al and I talked about getting a house… I’d rather like a dog, too.

 **Dorian** ( _making a face_ ): A dog? Really? I always thought of you as a cat person.

 **Anders** : I am… but… I have an idea about a really fancy dog… a little pug or something… I’ll name it something ridiculous and take it with me everywhere… force people to let me bring it into restaurants.

 **Dorian** ( _laughing_ ): You’re the worst kind of pet owner already.

 **Anders** : Yeah… I guess I am… but… y’know… Alistair likes dogs, too…

 

[Shot fades. Anders and Dorian are still talking to each other, but the words are inaudible. Blackout.]

  

* * *

* * *

## Day 81 - Anders

 

            “I don’t understand why I’m still doing this,” says Anders. He looks directly into the camera on his phone and sighs. “It’s not like there’s going to be a film. I would be _horrified_ if there were… but I guess I got used to it… and…” he stops talking briefly and looks down at his desk.

            “I’m back at the university, but not to teach. I’m gathering my things today. Frankly, I’m trying to remember how my life works,” he continues shakily. “Especially now… now that Alistair and I are — whatever.”

            Anders remembers the last fight they had — the one that really finished it. It still hurts; he can barely even stand to think of it.

            “I told him I didn’t love him,” he says. “When he pushed back, I told him I wasn’t sure if I _ever_ did.”

            In reality, he’d said more than that. He’d said everything he could think of to push Alistair away — to finally prove to himself what he always believed anyway: that he’s unlovable.

            “And I apologized for hurting him, but I wouldn’t take any of it back… even though I think he knows it’s a lie…”

            He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, remembering.

            “You know, I think that the reason it never would have worked had to do with perception,” he says. “He thought I was this great person — he always said so, anyway — and I _knew better_. This trip — this _hell_ we went through — only expedited what was going to eventually happen anyway. I couldn’t keep up with the lie of it anymore… with the expectations…”

            Anders picks up a glass of water and drinks from it noisily.

            “...and that’s why I think Dorian meant so much to me, honestly — because he didn’t think I was this amazing person. He didn’t need me to be anything… In fact, I think in a takes-one-to-know-one vein, he _knew_ I was an imposter.”

            Anders pauses for a long time, letting the camera continue to run. When he looks back up, his eyes are filled with tears. He smiles despite them.

            “And I managed to fail him anyway… didn’t I?”

  

* * *

* * *

 

[CHARGE camp. Nighttime. Campfire circle. Shot over the shoulder of the whole crew.]

 

 **Alistair** ( _laughing_ ): So then, Anders runs into the middle of the living room, where I was meeting with four of my most serious colleagues, with his pants inside out and a huge stain in the middle of his shirt. He looked like a vagrant!

 **Anders** : Why do you insist on telling everyone that story? My fever was so high, I was delirious.

 **Alistair** : _Because_. It proves a point… just wait. ( _Turning back to the group._ ) Anders managed to address everyone in the room by name and even ask thoughtful questions about their work and kids and summer plans.

( _Isabela and Morrigan laugh and turn to face each other. A knowing expression passes between them_.)

 **Morrigan** : So you’re saying he’s good at improvisation? ( _She laughs_.)

 **Anders** : Yeah, a good _liar_ , more like...

 **Alistair** ( _looking haughty_ ): No. I’m saying… even when you’re a mess, Andy… you’re still the best person I know...

 

[Slow fade.] 

 

* * *

* * *

## EPILOGUE — Alistair

 

            Alistair hits pause as the credits begin to roll and gasps in a breath. It has taken him so long to gather the strength to watch this — and now… now that he’s seen the last clip… he rewinds.

            It was Isabela who finally convinced him to watch it. In the months since it was finished and premiered, the documentary has been lauded as a tragic story of love and loss — gritty and raw. This was enhanced by the investigation, trial, and eventual political fallout, of course, but the _relationships_ are what everyone talks about. And now that he’s seen it, Alistair realizes all of it is true.

            He thinks about calling Isabela; they’ve stayed in touch almost every week for a year, but when he picks up the phone, it’s to do something he’s avoided with more fervor than watching the film itself…

            Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

_Hi. You’ve reached Anders. Leave a message._

            “Hi… um… it’s — it’s Al. I’m calling because I watched the movie — finally.” He clears his throat and coughs. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen it — if you could _stand_ to; I almost couldn’t.”

            Alistair licks his lips and tries to collect himself. His throat feels thick. “Andy, I didn’t know what you’d been through. I mean… I _knew_ … I knew what it felt like _for me_ … but… when I saw the pieces of you and Dorian… running for your lives... I’m — I’m so sorry.”

            He lets some time pass, wondering what to say next.

            “That last part, Andy… the part you recorded in your office. I never knew you felt like that… I… I didn’t need you to be anything, Andy. And yes, I thought you were amazing — I still do — but I didn’t need anything _from_ you; I just wanted to be _near_ you.”

            He inhales audibly, feeling sick.

            “So… I don’t expect anything now, either… but… if you could call me, I’d really like to hear your voice…”

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

THE END

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the people without whom this would not exist... to my darling and permanent muse, [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss), and to [Aurlana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana), who took so much time and care in helping me organize this daunting project. <3


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